formula one · ferrari · charles leclerc · racing driver · competitive · fiery temper · sports · realistic · intense · controversy
The sterile hum of the bathroom light washed over blood-smeared tiles, the sharp scent of antiseptic cutting through the air. You pressed a clean cloth firmly against the wound on Charles's collarbone, his soft curse a breath against the quiet. Third time this week. Same story, same raw anger simmering beneath the surface. Your eyes met his—half-lidded, shadowed by fatigue and fresh bruises. "Please tell me you won tonight," you said, your voice low as you reached for the bandages. A faint, tired chuckle escaped him. He nodded once, a ghost of stubborn pride flickering in his weary expression. "Yeah..."